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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28494732">A Family New Year's Eve</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/EconHomework/pseuds/EconHomework'>EconHomework</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Beatles Holiday Fics [3]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Beatles (Band)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Birthday Fluff, Fluff, High Park Farm, M/M, New Year's Eve, Scotland, Snow, good parenting</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 17:13:50</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,605</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28494732</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/EconHomework/pseuds/EconHomework</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>There's no better place to welcome the new year than in the quiet calm of the Scottish countryside. The ten-hour drive is more than worth it as John and Paul celebrate Heather's second birthday, their family, each other, and the coming year.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>John Lennon/Paul McCartney</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Beatles Holiday Fics [3]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2076249</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>20</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>A Family New Year's Eve</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>We're baaaack! Same AU and all that fun stuff, but this time for New Year’s. It’s also a fair bit longer than my other fics thus far.</p><p>Thank you all so much for the love you’ve given the other two stories. Y’all are wonderful! I hope this one goes over well, too. Enjoy :)</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>If London and its more rural outskirts had been coated in snow, Scotland was positively buried. Drifts lay close to a meter deep by the roadways, and piles twice that high had accumulated below eves. Perhaps not unusual for the north of Scotland, the Kintyre peninsula hadn’t seen this kind of snow in years. Even the locals, whom Paul chatted with in the small Campbelltown mercantile, expressed surprise at the intensity of the winter. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The weather had made the drive up a bit harrowing at times, even with Paul at the wheel. They’d left early in the morning, the sun still well below the horizon, as the trip was more than 10 hours long. Periodic stops were required for Martha, but, like Heather, she was a good car-sleeper. Truth be told, Heather was a good sleeper in general, regularly dozing off in the middle of dinner. Julian, ever-curious, was a bit harder to handle on the 10-hour trek. He asked a variety of questions about every topic connected with the passing scenery, the other motorists, Scotland, snow, and Abraham Lincoln. John silently cursed Mimi for the related Christmas gift. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Luckily, Julian was easily pacified with books on tape, especially “Beatrix Potter,” “The Chronicles of Narnia,” and “Alice in Wonderland.” He didn’t quite understand the latter, and Paul still held to the belief that Lewis Carrol had been high out of his mind when writing it, but the story kept Julian entertained for multiple hours, so Paul saw no reason to truly complain. Occasionally John would play a bit on the mouth organ, too, giving rise to laughter from the backseat. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And there were meltdowns, of course. Heather, not always the easiest to understand, became utterly distraught with something connected to their snow village back at Kenwood. Julian wanted to unbuckle and sit in the front seat with John (or Paul, he didn’t seem particularly invested in which one of his dads it was) and didn’t like that the reason he couldn’t was a result of Her Majesty’s Government. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I swear, if he becomes part of some group like the Provisional IRA because of your influence, I’m going to temporarily divorce you,” Paul groaned along a stretch of road that had managed to lull both children to sleep. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I thought you’d be proud of him for his understanding of law and safety measures or whatnot,” John chuckled. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I </span>
  <em>
    <span>am</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Paul insisted. “It’s what he does with that knowledge that concerns me.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well if you temporarily divorcing me means we get a second honeymoon and,” he glanced behind him to check on the status of his children’s consciousness, “second consummation night, then I’m not sure your threat holds much of a consequence for me.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“…. I really dislike you right now,” Paul groaned again, slowing to maneuver around a particularly icy patch in the road ahead. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know you can’t resist me.” John’s eyebrows danced in what was an attempt at seduction, which only made Paul laugh. Still, he responded with sincerity. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You assert correctly, my love. Though, I might be a bit too tired for, uh, anything like that tonight,” he admitted. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Plenty of nights after this, don’t fret.” John leaned over and pecked Paul’s cheek. “I’ve got dinner tonight, yeah?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You sure, love? I know sitting in a car can be just as tiring as driving.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sure, Macca. You’re saving all our necks driving up here. One of these days I might actually have to learn. Drivin’ Jules to school or somethin.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Johnny, by the time you learn to not be a menace on the road, Jules will probably be old enough to drive himself.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Probably true,” John sighed. “But I’m making dinner anyway. I learned cooking alright.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re a very good cook, love,” Paul affirmed. “Accept my gratitude in advance.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t thank me yet.” John looked as though he was already dreading his efforts at the stove. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As it turned out, dinner was lovely, thanks to the supply at the well-stocked mercantile. Julian, awake and not planning to blow up Parliament, had gone in with Paul to browse the shelves for the next few weeks’ meals. They could have driven into town daily, but once the family arrived at the farm, they had no desire to leave. John had initially been a bit antsy at the idea of prolonged separation from society, especially the first time Paul brought him up to Scotland. But as the initial days passed, the vast moorlands and rolling lowland farms worked their magic. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>John fell in love with the open windswept country and the rocky shores beaten by a stormy sea. At a time when the eyes of the world were seemingly upon not only their music but also their private lives, the isolation was a welcome relief. Always feeling as if he had to prove something to everyone, John was suddenly away from prying eyes and judging media. The quiet offered him time to reconnect with himself, and with Paul there, they gained a chance to reconnect as partners. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A year later, after numerous trips in between, they returned with a newborn Julian, and celebrated his first birthday there, too. A week or so later, still ensconced at the farm, they were told via the phone at the mercantile that Julian would be an older brother by the end of December. Thus, over the years, High Park had become a sanctuary for the family. The perfect place to celebrate Heather’s second birthday and ring in the new year. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And that date was fast approaching. As Paul washed the dishes in the small sink after dinner and John made a fire several strides away — the farmhouse was small, after all — it occurred to him that tomorrow evening was the last night of the year. Heather would be two, 1970 would be over, and 1971 would begin with the solemn silence of a snowy sheep pasture. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The evening of their arrival finished early, though. Heather and Julian ended up sprawled fast asleep on the braided rug in front of the fire, amidst the makings of a Lincoln Log city. Heather had been surprisingly not destructive, though part of that probably owed to the fact that John had been keeping an eye on her as he sketched Martha, snoring on her bed in the corner. Paul was leaned up against John, book in hand, dozing in and out of consciousness. When his breathing began to match Martha’s, John nudged him gently. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Paul love,” he whispered, “I think it’s time for bed.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“For who? You?” Paul rubbed his eyes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“For you, Macca,” John laughed rather loudly, placing a kiss on Paul’s temple. “And the little ones.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hmm, what do you say we just leave them there, let them get braided rug patterns on their faces?” Paul eyed his children with a warm expression. Julian stirred slightly, eyes blinking open. John’s laugh must have woken him. “Remember when we did that the first time we came up?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That was because we didn’t have a bed,” John reminded. “Not that that stopped us from —” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Winston, don’t say another word or I’ll slap your face. We are saying nothing of that sort within earshot of our children,” Paul hissed. He was suddenly incredibly awake and incredibly serious, throwing an intensely meaningful look at John that warned of Julian’s newly woken state. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>John winced. Winston was reserved for severe matters only. It may have sounded extreme to some, but Paul and John were adamant about what they exposed their kids to. John was just more likely to slip up on occasion. Still, their reasoning behind it was sound; a good portion of the issues John struggled with came from an unstable home life and being exposed to things at too young an age. Neither he nor Paul wanted their own children to suffer the same difficulties. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Not knowing what to say in response now that Julian was awake, John pressed himself back into the couch. Julian looked around with an expression of concern. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dada? Daddy?” He directed his confusion to John and Paul. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s okay, baby,” Paul assured, understanding almost immediately. “We’re at the farm, remember? You fell asleep playing with Heather.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Julian pushed himself up on his feet and hurried over to his parents. He quickly buried his face in the couch and grabbed onto John’s leg. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey there, Jules” John soothed, his child’s distress automatically pulling him out of his slight daze. “You’re okay. Daddy’s right here, yeah? And Dada. The whole family’s here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A nod against the corduroy fabric of John’s pants. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ready for bed?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Another nod. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Want me to carry you?” John leaned down and gently pried Julian’s face away from the worn cloth cushions. His eyes were slightly wet. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes please,” Julian whispered.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay, one airplane ride coming up!” John grabbed Julian by the middle and, standing up, hoisted the child into the air. “Ready to fly?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Initially embarrassed, Julian began to giggle at John’s exuberant twirls and twists, maneuvering Julian through the kitchen. “Daddy! It tickles!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Airplanes aren’t ticklish!” John teased, only eliciting more shrieks of joy from Julian. Eventually holding Julian upside down by his ankles, John turned to face Paul. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Do you want to grab Heather? </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Yeah, right behind you. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Paul stooped and scooped her up. Neither the laughter nor the yelling had woken her up, thank heavens. Paul was fast running out of energy and doubted his ability to make her fall asleep again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>John resumed his airplane mode of transportation with Julian as they made their way upstairs via the ship’s ladder. Paul trooped behind, muffling a yawn. The upstairs had been nothing but a dusty attic when Paul purchased the house and surrounding fields, but he and John had cleaned it out, insulated it, and turned it into a small loft. Perfect for children. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Paul laid the limp form of Heather down on the large woven rug, changing her into footy pyjamas with prints of lemurs on them. George had never exactly been a traditional gift giver, it seemed. A few moments later, she was tucked into her crib, still very much asleep. An image of Heather sleeping through her university graduation briefly crossed Paul’s mind. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Jules, baby, it’s time for bed,” John sighed on the other side of the room. Julian had put his pajamas on only to become more energetic than during his flight path. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I wanna stay up, though! With you and Dada and Martha!” Julian began bouncing on the edge of his bed, not a good idea in a loft with a sloped roof. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You can stay up tomorrow night for New Year’s Eve, Jules.” John gently but firmly placed his hands on Julian’s shoulders, eliminating the threat of a black eye or broken nose. “But right now, you need to go to sleep.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Up! I wanna stay up!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Julian. Use your quiet voice. Heather’s asleep.” Paul crossed the room to Julian’s bed and sat down on the edge. “You heard what Daddy said. You need to go to sleep.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But I’m not tired,” Julian protested. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You will be when you lie down,” Paul said. “Just like Martha down in her bed.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Can Martha come up here?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She doesn’t like the ship’s ladder, baby. And she’s already asleep. You can see her tomorrow morning.” Paul’s voice was soft and resolute, just like John’s hands, which were now pulling back the blankets and moving Julian into a sitting position. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But—“ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Julian. Dada said no. You can see Martha in the morning.” John decisively repeated Paul’s comment. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Can I see the sheep tomorrow morning?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You can see all the animals tomorrow morning. You and Daddy can find the barn cats, too,” Paul promised.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But I wanna see them now.” Julian’s voice was already becoming sleepy, what with the soft tone of Paul’s voice and the blankets now being pulled round him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They’re all asleep, baby,” Paul soothed. “They’re in their beds in the hay loft, all tucked between the hay bales. And the sheep are sleeping down below, all warm with their wool. And the horses have their winter blankets and they’re all asleep as well. Everyone is asleep. Even the little birds in the hedges, all snug in their nests.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mm hmm,” Julian mumbled. His eyelids started to droop, and he slumped all the way back onto the mattress. “I like the animals.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They like you, too, Jules,” John whispered as he pulled the blankets up. “You can see them in your dreams tonight.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A few more mostly indecipherable comments from Julian and reassuring responses from both Paul and John, and the loft was quiet. The only sounds were outside; the soft whistle of the wind over the snowy pastures and the gentle creaking of the gate in the farmyard. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wordlessly, Paul and John made their way downstairs and into their bedroom, just off the kitchen. They discarded their clothes in favor of sleep wear — Paul tugged on some flannel pyjamas while John, eternally warm, stripped down to his pants — and slipped into bed. Lamps turned off, extra blanket at their feet, John’s glasses on the nightstand. They settled quietly against one another, Paul on his side and John sprawled out with an arm automatically making its way under Paul and pulling him close. Both were beginning to truly feel the effects of the day's events — the drive, the snow, the dinner process, putting the kids to bed — but one more thing remained to be dealt with. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was John who spoke first.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry, love,” John said, speaking into the darkness of their room. “I’ll be better about that. I just forget sometimes. But I want what’s best for our kids, and I promise I’ll keep trying.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you. I’m sorry I said I would slap you. You know I’d never hurt you, right?” Paul replied softly. When John nodded, Paul moved closer, pressing his head into the crook of John’s neck. “We’re a team, remember. The two of us. We both make mistakes, and I’m always going to be here to help you.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I love you, Macca.” John pulled Paul even closer, wanting all of what he was. Not sexually, not greedily, but deeply. “I can’t believe I get to have you in my life this way. My beautiful husband and a wonderful father to our children.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I love you, too, Johnny. More than the sum of what we are.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>John responded with a hum and then moved his head to place a soft kiss on Paul's lips. Paul returned it and gently ran his hands through John’s hair. Even in the dark they knew where the other was.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They parted, lying back and shifting into the beginnings of sleep. Nothing but their breath disturbed the dark quiet. John felt himself drifting off. Suddenly Paul twitched violently and shot up in bed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“John!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What is it, love?” John struggled to sit up, heart beating with worry. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We didn’t brush their teeth!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Jesus Christ, Macca,” John groaned, covering his eyes with his forearm. “If you so much as think about waking them up to brush their teeth, I swear I will not hesitate to make you sleep out on that rug.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b> ——————— </b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The morning brought bright sunshine through the kitchen windows, birthday marmalade on birthday scones at the table Paul had fashioned by hand, and a fountain of words overflowing Julian’s and Heather’s mouth. Both he and Heather had slept rather later than normal, tired from the previous day’s drive, but now that they were awake, they appeared to be an almost indomitable force of nature. Indeed, as soon as breakfast was over and the dishes washed — Paul never liked to let pots or plates sit and John wasn’t about to complain — Julian quite literally latched himself to John’s leg, begging for an adventure to find the barn cats. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A bit of help here, Macca?” John grunted, trying to walk through the kitchen as Julian stood atop his slippered foot, arms clamped at mid thigh. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You have a leech, do you?” Paul grinned over the rim of his tea cup. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Two, as it turns out,” John sighed. Heather had copied Julian on John’s other leg. “Please, love, I’m losing circulation.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright, who wants to get out in some snow?” Paul relented with a wink at John. His question was met with a chorus of joyous exclamations. Martha, not understanding but caught up in the festivities, barked in unison. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You call this helping?” John joked, pretending to cover his ears. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Patience, love,” Paul chuckled. “Jules, Heather, let’s go find your snow clothes, yeah?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>With another set of twin shrieks, the two raced off to the loft, Heather’s feet furiously pounding the worn floorboards after her brother. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Julian! Wait for us on the ladder!” John called after them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And you call me a worrier,” Paul chided as they walked after their children. “They can both climb the stairs now, even Heather. It’s not really a ladder anyway.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’d still feel better if they were an actual staircase,” John admitted, putting his hands out behind Heather to catch her if she fell. “Especially with the third one on the way.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’re gonna be outnumbered soon, Johnny,” Paul said, following John up the “ladder stairs.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We already are.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Paul raised his eyebrows in question before realizing John couldn’t see them. </span>
</p><p> <span>“I know you’re raising your eyebrows at me and I can’t even see you.” </span></p><p>
  <span>“Well is there a third child I don’t know about?” Paul asked as his head popped up in the loft. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Martha, you fool. Your first child.” John plopped down in front of Heather's bag of clothes, helping her sort through it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Aww, Johnny, you’re accepting Martha!” Paul teased, helping Julian with the same task. John wasn’t much of a dog person. He treated Martha well and loved her in his own way, but he was the proud father of numerous cat children, not the English Sheepdog. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I said she’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>your </span>
  </em>
  <span>first child, Macca. I had no part in her adoption.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But you helped me raise her,” Paul insisted, giving John a mournful look. “Besides, I love Pyramus as much as Martha.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You gave me Pyramus, you clod; of course you love him.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The banter continued, interrupted by flailing limbs and a prolonged search for Julian’s red knit cap. The view from the loft’s big window showed a pristine sea of snow, and both children's impatience at getting out into it prolonged the process of actually preparing them for it. Heather was the easier one to manage; John just had to zip up her snowsuit and maneuver her galoshes on the correct way. Julian, on the other hand, had snow pants, a sweater, and a large coat, not to mention mittens, socks, boots, and the irritatingly absent hat. Paul looked about ready to silently snap a drumstick by the time Julian was fully dressed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The process finally complete, John and Paul hefted them down the stairs and all but threw them out the front door and into the snow, Martha bounding out after them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Did I ever have that much energy?” John wondered aloud, watching as Heather practically disappeared into the snow but then sprang up again, much to Martha’s delight. Julian appeared to have forgotten his quest for the cats and was intently focused on digging down to the grass.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You do have that much energy.” Paul snuck his arms around John’s waist. “Just in different ways.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Paul…” John’s voice trailed off and he squirmed slightly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Everything alright?” Paul removed his arms and turned John to face him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If we start anything now I’m gonna have a really hard time stopping,” John admitted, blush painted across his thin cheeks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s alright love. I didn’t mean to start anything, anyway,” Paul smiled reassuringly. He hadn’t intended John to have that reaction, but it made sense. Almost a week had passed since they’d had some truly alone time where they’d felt energized enough to do anything, even on a modest scale. Both were tactile people, which proved difficult to hide from the media in public, their children at home, and also from each other after a while.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, yeah. I’m sorry.” John looked to be a mix of disappointed and embarrassed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, don’t be, love.” Paul brought a hand up to cup John’s still flushed cheeks. “You’re perfect. No matter how impatient, for lack of a better word.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>After a quick kiss, the lacing up of John’s new snow boots, and the donning of upper body winter attire, the two of them set out into the snow after Heather and Julian. The sun glinted off the snow crystals and the wind blew up little flurries of the top layer every now and then. The bottom layers of snow were fairly wet, though. Perfect for building with. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dada! I wanna make a Snow Sheep!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sheep!” Heather echoed, her cheeks as rosy as John’s initial blush. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A Snow Sheep, huh?” Paul knelt down in the snow, absentmindedly packing it between his gloved hands. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, and Martha, too,” Julian explained. “But I wanna make that one with Daddy.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>John looked rather perturbed. “Are you sure you don’t want to make Snow Martha with Dada and the sheep with me?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, you have to make Martha so then you’ll like her more,” Julian said very seriously. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Paul burst out laughing. “That sounds like a wonderful idea, Jules!” He threw a playful “so there” look at John. “Which one do you want to do first?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Snow Sheep!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sheep!” Heather yelled again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What am I meant to do until then?” John grumbled, though not without humor. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You and Heather can make something,” Paul sympathized with a pat on John’s shoulder. “Use those creative juices.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fine,” John huffed. “We’re gonna make the best cat ever, right Heather?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Cat!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The morning stretched out ahead as the four of them constructed a small menagerie of snow creatures: Julian and Paul’s sheep, John and Heather’s cat, Martha (much to John’s chagrin), and a “polly bear” that bore a suspicious resemblance to an overgrown potato bug. From there, Julian forged through the snow to reach the stone barn. Heather had surrendered to her mid-morning nap, and was asleep in John’s arms as he and Paul followed behind Julian. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The farm hands Paul hired to care for the animals most of the year had been given the next few weeks off; with the family here, the sheep and horses were in equally good hands. Julian counted each animal in turn, making up names for them as he went. Paul held him high enough to pour grain into the horses’ feed buckets and place flakes of hay into the manger for the sheep. Satisfied that the large mammals were in good form, Julian left Paul to clean the stalls and led John and Heather (still very much asleep) on an adventure to the hayloft. The ultimate goal was the barn cats, but the hayloft itself was wonderful enough. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lunch was served inside by the fire and soon gave way to the second iteration of Lincoln Log Land. Julian wanted to bring in snow to make it match the outside, but the idea was gently put down in favor of the town being built on a white sheet instead. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The afternoon eased into late evening seemingly all at once. The sun set early enough in winter, but Scotland’s northerly latitude reduced its daylight hours even more. With the sun’s absence behind the small nolls and, further beyond that, the angry Atlantic, the fire light trickled into all corners of the room. It lit up the reading nook under the large window, facing south toward the distant mull. Shifting shadows illuminated the wooden cupboards, covered with drawings and cards and polaroids from the past years. There was an ink sketch John had done of Paul holding a lamb, snippets of a poem Paul had written for John after they returned from India, a picture of baby Heather surrounded in the flowers of her namesake. It was hard to believe she was two. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ensconced in her high chair at the long wooden table for dinner, she wasn’t quite aware that the festivities were for her, but she seemed happy nonetheless. John had strung up a garland of colorful paper triangles while Julian helped Paul arrange her presents on the table. A cake miraculously appeared after dinner, very obviously homemade, especially with the frosting art, but full of love nonetheless. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Julian climbed onto a seat next to the high chair, watching as Paul lit the twin candles. John brought the house guitar — well loved from years of playing — from its place by the bookcase and strummed it into a simple rhythm of “Happy Birthday.” Paul and Julian joined in for the vocals as Heather made grabby hands for the chocolate in front of her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Think she can blow out the candles?” John asked when the song finished. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Let’s try, yeah?” Paul lifted up the cake platter and moved it closer to Heather’s high chair. “Wanna blow out the candles, sweetheart?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Cake!” Heather clapped with impressive coordination. “Cake please!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Cake soon! Wanna blow out your candles first? Here, watch Daddy.” Paul pointed to John, who lightly blew on the candles. The flames dipped down and then fluttered back up, still burning brightly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Heather, less cautious than Julian, stretched forward close to the candles and gave her best attempt at a strong breath. One of the flames actually flickered out, the wick turning to a glowing ember. Before Paul could encourage her to make the same effort on the second one, she reached out and grabbed it. Paul nearly dropped the cake in shock and John quickly removed her hand, inspecting it closely. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is she…?” Paul felt his heart jump into his throat. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, she’s fine,” John sighed with relief. “Goodness sweetheart, don’t scare us like that!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Heather was oblivious to the moment of panic she had caused. Instead, she reached for the cake again, this time going for the frosting. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dada, I think Heather wants the cake,” Julian spoke up. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, Julian, thank you.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The cake was cut with no knife wounds and eaten without a choking fit, luckily for Paul’s nerves. Heather donated her talents in coordination by actually getting most of it in her mouth and not on her cheeks. She opened her presents with similar skill, though Julian was eager to help; what child didn’t like opening presents? Particular highlights were the yellow Wellingtons from Julian, a hat with fox ears from Aunt Mimi, and a picture book about different types of flowers from Mike. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The most labor intensive gift was from her parents, though. Over the past few weeks, they’d assembled a set of wooden farm animals, carved by Paul and painted by John. Heather wrapped her small fingers around the individuals in the flock of sheep, the two horses, a few cows, and a small set of chickens. When the final presents were opened and the leftover cake secured, Heather and Julian returned to the braided rug, wooden animals in hand. Their small voices could be heard from the kitchen, where Paul and John were doing a final cleanup of the kitchen. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The fire burned steadily, occasionally eliciting a series of pops as it slowly turned the split logs to charred ash. The noise was soon accompanied by John’s guitar. He moved gracefully from tune to tune, some from the band, some from others, some from his own notebooks. Paul lowered himself to the rug, joining in with the Lincoln Log farm at Julian’s request. The light slowly faded as the fire died down, as did Julian and Heather’s energy. They ended up fast asleep on the rug again, braided patterns pressing into their faces.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I might not make it to midnight myself, Macca,” John said with a yawn. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But Johnny, it’s our tradition,” Paul pouted with large eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know, love. I’ll do my best.” He patted the couch next to him. “Come ‘ere.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Paul acquiesced, joining John on the sofa after draping a blanket over their sleeping children. “Remember when Jules used to fall asleep on the kitchen floor?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How could I forget? I kept nearly tripping over him,” John mused. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think that said more about your eyesight than his placement.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, I was wearing glasses by the time Julian was born! The photo albums prove it!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, but not the right prescription,” Paul teased. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I still don’t think that had much of an effect.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll let you believe that.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, do you think I look better with these frames or the Buddy Holly ones?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think you look lovely in both.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Macca, that wasn’t the question!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Paul sighed. “I think the Buddy Holly glasses suited you very well then and the round frames look quite nice on you now. They both fit your styles.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah.” Paul tapped the bridge of John’s glasses with his middle finger. “You always look put together and very handsome.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Your flattery still might not get me to midnight.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A boy can try.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fortunately for Paul’s strong sense of tradition, John was still conscious when they began their preparation for the countdown. Together, they bundled up the drowsy forms of Julian and Heather in enough layers to stave off the cold for a brief outing. Then, dressed in warm coats themselves, Paul and John carried their stirring children into the darkness of New Year’s Eve. They slowly waded through the snow and climbed to the top of the nearby hill, overlooking the farm. Once there, Paul set Julian down on the ground while John continued to rock Heather in his arms. Then, they all cast their gaze skyward.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Whatever clouds had deposited snow in the past few days were gone, and the winter sky stretched broadly in all directions, a deep royal blue. The stars flickered overhead, all the brighter thanks to a newly waxing moon. But the most impressive show above them was the gently flowing current of the Aurora Borealis. It swayed back and forth above them, an entrancing stream of green and pink and red. Fading in some parts and glowing brighter in others, it appeared almost alive. No wonder the Vikings had thought it to be a bridge to another world. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Julian, still rather tired, watched with somewhat unfocused eyes. He’d seen the northern lights before, of course, but his age made some things new every time they reappeared. Heather, having woken up when she was slipped into her snowsuit, was equally fascinated. She raised her hands toward the light, fussing slightly in John’s arms. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Like moths to a lamp</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Paul smiled. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is it next year yet, Dada?” Julian asked, watching the glow overhead.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not yet, baby,” Paul said, checking his watch. “A few minutes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And in April I’ll be four?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>John grinned. “Then you’ll be four.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And then later the new baby comes?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, do you remember when?” John repositioned Heather, who was still attempting to grab the aurora. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“In Aujust,” Julian said slowly. His brows furrowed, knowing it didn’t sound quite right. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Aah-guh-st,” Paul pronounced for him. The G’s were still proving to be an issue. Maybe a song would help with that at some point. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Julian repeated it back, matching Paul’s sounds. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, there we go! Look at you!” Paul grinned. His heart practically ached with love, even more so when he looked over at John, who was swaying gently from side to side, Heather against his chest. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Only a few more minutes and then they’d be in a whole new year. It was only a calendar change, just the next day, but it marked the beginning of so much more, especially for their family. Another year of love and joy, hardship and sadness, music and sketches. In eight months there’d be one more family member, changing their lives in similar yet different ways to what Julian and Heather had brought. Paul and John would celebrate five years of “marriage” and ten years together. The band’s last album, though not one they released together, would see its first anniversary. Things would become more complicated, particularly with the nature of their domestic lives in the eyes of the media, but somehow they’d figure it out. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Paul looked down at his watch. Just under a minute. “About 50 more seconds, Jules!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I wanna see, I wanna see!” Julian bounced up to glimpse Paul’s watch. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Here, let’s all watch it together, yeah?” Paul slipped off his watch, then scooped up Julian with his right arm and set him on his hip. Paul held the watch in his left arm, extended out so everyone could watch the illuminated hands tick closer and closer to 1971. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“10… 9… 8…” John began, and Julian joined in once he reached 5. “4… 3… 2… 1!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s next year now, right?” Julian grinned up at Paul and John. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, 1971!” Paul bounced Julian up and down slightly. Goodness, he was getting big. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Happy New Year, love,” John whispered, leaning closer to Paul.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Happy New Year, darling,” Paul replied. They moved together briefly, planting the ghost of a kiss on each other’s lips. Their breath made clouds of fog, and neither could hide their smile.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They could have been anywhere on earth, simply standing on a small hill, gazing up at the wonders of the sky, welcoming the new year with quiet joy. But here they were, cloaked in the stillness of the Scottish night. Everything felt calm and new, the silence of an infant year. Miles and miles of nothing but slumbering fields and sleeping farmhouses. As John started to hum the mournful yet peaceful tune of “Auld Lang Syne,” Paul thought there was no place he’d rather be. </span>
</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Happy New Year to all! Fingers crossed it's at least a bit better than 2020.</p><p>Give a kudos or send a carrier pigeon if ya liked it!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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